The only person you do owe something to is yourself.”
“I don’t agree with you,” she mutters. “I haven’t done anything to deserve anything.”
I think she’s referring to that job again. When she told me about it, I wanted to track her mom down and scream at her for being a shitty parent and making Willow think she needed to do anything to take care of her, things that are causing her self-torment. And her dad isn’t any better. He never should’ve left her to begin with. Although, after telling me about the creeper he chased off last night, I’m glad he decided to try to come back into Willow’s life. But fuck, the fact that she was even in that situation makes me want to lock her up and keep her safe forever, even if that does make me sound like a controlling asshole.
“Can I ask you something?” I approach cautiously.
“Yeah …” She hesitates then nods. “Go ahead. I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I want to make sure you’re not planning on going back to that place.”
Humiliation pours from her eyes. “You mean the club?”
I nod, grazing my finger along the back of her hand again. “After what you told me … with what happened with that guy … and then with your boss wanting you to …” I take a composing breath. “I just want to make sure you don’t plan on going back there.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “I was never planning on doing that … I mean, the whole …”—her cheeks turn bright red—“stripping thing. I can barely stand being near the stage, let alone on it.”
“So, you’re not going back?”
“No … But I do have to go back to get my final paycheck.” Her shoulders slump. “God, I’m picking up my final paycheck, and I don’t even have a job lined up yet.”
My lips part. “That’s okay. I can—”
“No, you can’t,” she says.
Goddammit, she’s so stubborn.
“I don’t know why you can’t just accept my help. I mean, I do know why since I understand you. But I really wish you’d just move in with me and let me help you like I want to.”
She stares down at our interlaced fingers again. After a moment or two, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She quickly clears the look away before I can figure out what’s got her smiling.
“Did you mean it?” she asks quietly.
I slow down the car to make a turn into my neighborhood. “Mean what?”
“All that stuff on the list,” she says, giving me a tentative look.
I carry her gaze. “Of course I meant it. Every damn word.” Her lips start to turn upward again, so I press on, wanting a full smile. “Especially the pillow fighting part. That was actually the most important part of the list, so make sure to remember that when I knock on your door at two o’clock in the morning.”
Her laughter bursts through, and the wall of tension around us crumbles into dust.
“All right, I’ll keep it in mind,” she says. “But maybe we should make them ten o’clock pillow fights. I’d really like to start going to bed at a decent hour.”
I don’t want to smile just yet, but fuck, it takes a lot of willpower to hold it back. “You’re saying you’ll live with me?” I ask as I turn into the driveway of my two-story house.
Her chest rises and crashes as she breathes profusely. “I will, at least until I can find somewhere else to live. But I’m going to pay you.” When I open my mouth to protest, she adds, “I have to pay you, Beck. It’s just how I am, and I’d feel shitty if I didn’t.”
“Then I’m going to make the price dirt cheap.”
“Make it reasonable.”
I park in front of the garage and silence the engine. “Reasonable with a discount.”
“Beck—”
I place my finger against her lips. “Shush. Just let me do this one thing. It’ll make me happy, and you’ll be less stressed out over your finances.”
She remains quiet for what feels like forever before reluctantly nodding. “All right, I’ll let you win this one.”
I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.
Then worry flashes across her face. “I think we need to talk about what happened in the bathroom.”
“You mean when I hugged you?” I play dumb. But it’s either pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about or watch her pull out a piece of paper to add more rules.
And I don’t want any more rules.